Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(84)

Beauchamp regarded him doubtfully. “Well…Mrs. Scott is reputed to be a very attractive woman—”

“She's damned beautiful.” Logan stared into the silken dark surface of his coffee. “There's a quality of innocence about her that won't change even if she lives to be a hundred…” Abruptly he recalled himself from the brief reverie. “To my knowledge, she's never been painted before. Orsini is fortunate to have the opportunity.”

Lord Beauchamp regarded him with gathering amusement. “I'll inform Mr. Orsini that he must paint her, as everyone will be avidly curious about the woman who's made you so besotted.”

“I wouldn't use that word,” Logan replied, scowling faintly.

“Dear fellow, no other word will do. The look on your face as you described her…” Chuckling, Lord Beauchamp stood and nodded good-bye to him, returning to his own table.

“‘Besotted,’ my arse,” Logan grumbled, leafing through the play folio. “I only said she was beautiful.”

Orsini accepted the proposal without hesitation, forwarding a letter of gratitude that arrived at the Scotts' London home in the morning. Upon being informed of the plans for a portrait, Madeline reacted with dismay.

“I'll be showing before the portrait is done,” she protested, standing before Logan in the library, nervously crumpling and smoothing a sheet of paper in her hands.

Logan closed an account book and turned in his chair to face her. “An appropriate gown will disguise your condition, and Orsini will trim your waistline with a few brush strokes. Besides, it will give you something to do during confinement.”

“I can think of many other things worth doing.”

“I want a portrait of you. After Orsini uses the work in his exhibition, I intend to purchase it.”

“Exhibition!” Madeline exclaimed, flushing. “Logan, I have no wish to be displayed as if I were some object, or a trophy—”

“But you are,” he countered. The devilish light in his eyes gave her a chill of apprehension. “You're mine, and I'll flaunt you when and where I choose.”

Madeline stared at him with wide eyes, too flustered to speak.

“What is that?” Logan asked, his gaze flickering to the paper in her hand.

“It's a list…a-an estimate of the expenses for the ball. Obviously some things must be eliminated, and I would like your advice—”

“Come here and show it to me.” He moved his chair back from the desk and patted his knee, wearing an expression that made her uneasy.

Approaching him with caution, Madeline sat gingerly on his lap, her spine held straight. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable if I sat over there—”

“I'm perfectly comfortable,” he said, his arm tightening until she reclined against his chest. Taking the paper from her, he glanced down the list of numbers. To Madeline's amazement, he seemed to find nothing untoward. “It's more or less what I expected,” he said calmly.

“It's going to cost a fortune,” Madeline replied. “I kept telling the duchess there was no need to be so extravagant, but she kept ordering the best of everything, and doubling the amounts I asked for, and…why are you smiling like that?”

“I had no idea you were so reluctant to spend my I money, sweet.” Logan discarded the list and resettled Madeline on his chest. “Prudence is a fine thing, but you're hardly a fiddler's wife.”

“Of course not, but…what will we live on for the rest of the year?”

He toyed with the lace at the neckline of her bodice and pulled gently at the gauzy scarf that covered her throat and collarbone. A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You can set your mind at ease, Maddy. We could comfortably afford a ball like this every week for the rest of our lives.”

Perplexed, she stared at him, her brow wrinkling. “You…we…have as much as all that?”

“Four estates, not including a hunting lodge in Wiltshire.” Noting her interest, he continued casually. “We also own a yacht, a brewery, a building yard and tilery, and holdings in a colonial mining company. In addition, I've invested in railroad and shipping stocks, which are producing excellent revenue. Then, of course, there is the art collection and the theater, as well as other assorted properties.” He seemed amused by her thunderstruck expression. “You may open accounts wherever you choose, madam. I have no doubt that I have the means to afford you.”

It took a moment for Madeline to gather her wits. It appeared that she had married into a fortune greater than that of her parents or either of her sisters, and larger by far than Lord Clifton's.

Logan watched her expression and laughed suddenly, as if he could read her thoughts. “Before you get too high for your buttons, madam, remember that I'm not a member of the peerage, and none of your children will have titles.”

“That doesn't matter to me,” Madeline replied, while her heart quickened at the implication that they would have more children.

“It may to them.”

“They won't need titles to distinguish them. They'll learn to stand on their own accomplishments, as you have.”

“Why, Mrs. Scott.” His mouth curved in a mocking smile. “I believe you're trying to flatter me.”